Blame It On the Cider
by celticgina
Summary: Written for the "Hooking up at the office Party Chritmas challenge"  A wee bit late, but still some fun.  My take on this challenge.  One shot fluff.


**This Christmas fic is written for the Hooking up at the Office Christmas Party prompt. I am sorry for the delay on this. Blame a broken sewer pipe on Christmas Eve, Yes, really. Hope you all enjoy this and the warmth and love of this season, no matter what you celebrate!**

_**Blame It On the Cider**_

There was no party. There was no celebration. There was no festive gathering. The United States Government didn't allow such things. To allow it would have been to acknowledge one holiday over another. Never mind that the money said "In God we Trust". The Federal Bureau of Investigation would not acknowledge any specific holiday. Some poinsettias graced the lobby in a festive winter motif, but that was as far as it would be allowed. Agents and employees were reminded of this every year via a HR memo. That was the official policy.

This year, someone had taken copies of that memo and folded them into origami shapes. They were then used to decorate a tree that wasn't officially there. Instead of an angel, a menorah topped this unacknowledged tree. It was a compromise that worked somehow. If this tree existed, it was standing on a small table, lit with white lights. Any supervisor foolish enough to ask about it, was met with a sea of universal denial on its existence, let alone its origin. It was ignored, officially.

The surrounding noise and activity this evening was harder to ignore. For on this floor of the Hoover building, merriment was running rampant. There was red and green and gold and silver clothing on people who normally wore navy blue and grey as a badge of honor. Some of this questionable apparel blinked and shook and made music. People laughed and talked and joked loudly to be heard over the music blasting from computer speakers. No one was quite sure how every computer was playing the same music, but the who on this was a pretty certain bet.

Looking as if a entire box of Christmas had exploded on her, Penelope Garcia twirled and laughed through this scene of holiday mirth. She had in her hand a coffee cup that no one believed held coffee. She was closely followed by a tall man with a bemused smile on his face. Morgan, dressed in a pale grey dress shirt, still managed to look like a GQ cover even in a tie made of silver garland. He too, held a large mug not filled with coffee.

Spencer Reid was looking puzzled at something. He, of course, could expound on all the holiday traditions and their origins and meanings. He was a little confused on the scene that had met his eyes in the kitchen. Rossi had JJ backed against the counter, and was holding a piece of mistletoe over her head as he thoroughly kissed her. Reid wasn't puzzled by the mistletoe, or even Rossi using it to kiss a woman. It was JJ's obviously enthusiastic participation in that embrace that had him bewildered. He hadn't thought JJ had consumed so much as to lose her inhibitions. Perhaps there was something more there that needed investigation. He looked for Emily. She was so good at clarifying those things.

Emily looked down at this sea of color and noise from the window in Hotch's office. She drank it all in greedily with her eyes. In her time of exile, she had wondered if she would ever see this again. It was delightful and warming to her very heart. A noise made her turn to see Hotch standing by his own office door, looking worried. Poor man, she thought. He always looked worried. She still cursed all that transpired and how she had contributed to the worry. At least he had gained some of that weight back.

"Prentiss?"

That one word held a wealth of meaning. He was asking if she was ok. He was asking if she needed something. He was asking why she was in his office when there was light and laughter a few feet away. Normally, she reveled in that atmosphere.

She smiled to re-assure him. As she turned away from his window toward him she stumbled a tiny bit. Her cup that didn't hold coffee, dangled precariously from her fingers. In a lightning fast move, he was there. Deftly removing the mug from her grasp, he set it down.

He didn't have to look to know. It contained the remnants of a heated spiced cider that had been liberally dosed with rum. It was warming and incredibly potent. Mrs. Wayne, the cheerful, motherly clerical made huge batches of it every year in crock pots in the kitchenette. Her son brought the special rum back from Puerto Rico every year for her The smell drifted through the offices and set the tone for this non-existent party. She usually demanded car keys before you got any. It was a trade-off everyone made gladly.

Hotch put his own cup down next to hers. This was only the second time he had ever imbibed. The first time, Haley had to come get him. He had learned after that just to keep a mug of water in his hand every succeeding year. This year, Jack was going with Jessica to Haley's family for Christmas. He was going home to an empty home. Drinking was probably not the best or most original method of handling this sorrow. He was a little surprised himself that he had given in to this impulse. Normally, he would have headed home early and nursed some fine scotch privately with his depression. But as he had planned to say no, Prentiss had caught his eye wearing _**that**_ red sweater and he found himself holding out his mug. It would take more than a carefully poured dose of scotch this year.

His hand slid along the softness of the wool encasing her arm, steadying her, he told himself. Of course, he would notice she was attractive, he had told himself in the past. What man wouldn't? But he had put up a steely barrier around letting those thoughts go even further. Days like today, when she looked especially beautiful were carefully hidden away in his memory, to be called upon when the world crushed in on him.

Emily thought she must have drunk more than she thought. There must be more rum in the cider than normal. What else could explain the slow stroke of Hotch's thumb along her forearm? Even through the soft cashmere, she thought she could feel every ridge of his fingerprints. He wasn't doing that. She needed to stop her rum-soaked fantasy right there. He wasn't standing that close to her. She could not feel the heat of his body next to hers. She should move, she thought. But instead, she held her breath, and tried not to lean into that small caress.

"Prentiss? Is everything alright?"

It was a vague question from a man who prided himself on his carefully chosen language in any occasion. Words held power. He was an attorney. He knew this. He should be able to express himself better here. But the feel of her sweater, warmed by the woman it encased, had struck him a little stupid.

"Yes. It's really almost too much wonderful. I guess I am not used to all this noise and the people yet."

"This punch probably magnifies it."

No one was there, but the both whispered. The muffled sounds of the music and laughter faded in that moment. There was only they two, in the dim light of a small desk lamp. She snuck a look at her arm. There it was, his hand grasping her arm, his thumb stroking slowly. She stared at it for a long minute, noting each sinew of muscle in his thumb as it moved deliberately leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Finally, she risked lifting her head, looking into his eyes. The intensity there shocked her. The heat in his gaze made her gasp just ever so slightly. That little noise startled them both. She started to sway and his hand tightened around her arm. She found herself pulled closer, but if she were being honest, she would say she leaned. In the end, it didn't matter. His head bent and hers lifted. The meeting of their lips was gentle, and careful. Neither was sure of their reception. They stilled a moment each registering the other's reaction.

It took only another heartbeat, maybe two, before they both moved again. Typically, he took control. His mouth moved and began to taste. Hers softened and acquiesced to him. As in all things, he was careful, deliberate and thorough. Simultaneously, he asked and commanded entrance. She gladly opened to his quest. The first slow sweep into her mouth weakened her knees. She leaned in a bit more. It was all he needed. The hand stroking her arm pulled her into his embrace more fully. The hard strength of his body was at odds with the soft, deep kisses. She melted into both and began to answer back with her own mouth. One of his hands came up to hold her head and tilt hers in counterpoint to his. He wanted to be closer and fit better. Her arms grasped around his shoulders and hung on.

They tasted of cider and rum and the spices. But over that they tasted each other. Neither knew prior what that would be, but they recognized it somehow anyway.

Her scent, taste and the sweet weight of her in his arms was intoxication personified. A part of him registered that this was an addiction and he was forever hooked. He tightened his grip and overdosed.

She held on and lived her fantasy. Those long lonely nights, exiled far from all she loved and knew, she would rarely allow herself moments like this to ferment in her imagination. Never mind that that they had never happened. It was always this man and this kind of heated embrace that kept her warm and sane. She reveled in it.

It wasn't until a need for oxygen forced them to move their mouths apart that they paused. He pulled back just slightly to see her face and gauge her reaction. Her eyelashes fluttered, dark crescents against pale cheeks. When her eyes opened, they held a world of heat and light. The smile lighting them reflected in her kiss swollen lips. He couldn't prevent a small surge of male pride that he had caused her mouth to look that way. He had marked her and the caveman living inside his evolved counterpart rejoiced.

One corner of his mouth turned up and those dark, serious eyes actually twinkled down at her. But behind the smile she could see a question and a fear. She slid one hand over a dimple as she had always longed to do.

"Yes."

It was only one word. He didn't know if she meant yes to the cider, or yes to the kiss or yes to what he wanted to ask next. It didn't matter. The caveman roared again and he pulled her up to him again. This time the kiss wasn't controlled and deliberate. It was hard, hot and all consuming. He would devour her. He would forever mark her with his mouth.

She tasted the passion as he nipped at her lips and soothed them with his tongue. She tried to meet his and take some measure of control in the embrace but he would not allow this. He had broken the dam of his stoic reserve. It burst with a breath-stealing ardor. When the hand holding her to him began to travel in slow circles on her back, she whimpered unknowing in her throat. He knew and felt the vibrations down to his long ignored libido. He pulled her closer into his embrace. She could feel his arousal and rejoiced in it.

A sudden burst of loud cheering permeated their consciousness. While they both wanted the next step toward the logical conclusion of this heated embrace, an awareness of time and place crept in, regretfully. He loosened his hold on her and she sadly stepped back. But the hand that had caressed her arm held it again.

"Emily?"

He didn't call her Prentiss. That warmed her almost as much as that caress. She still whispered although the crowd downstairs wouldn't have heard if she yelled.

"Yes."

His tie was askew. He had a light coating of lipstick staining his lips and his hair was mussed. But it was that damned smile that melted her most of all.

He straightened and let go of her hand. She missed his warmth already. Not a good sign she thought to herself.

"I will be waiting downstairs with a taxi?"

The moment the words left her lips, she held her breath. Had she assumed too much. Maybe this was just a liquor fueled, yuletide kiss, to be conveniently forgotten in sober light of day. Maybe he was just feeling a little lonely and it meant really nothing.

The silence stretched between them for what seemed an eternity. It was in truth only a few seconds. Aaron was actually struck dumb for a moment. Was she really saying what he hoped? Was this even a good idea? His body was screaming in the affirmative while his rum soaked brain struggled to catch up. Before he could answer, she turned, mortified by his lack of response. He was going to let her down easily. It would be awkward. She should just get out now before he even spoke.

"Yes."

It was an echo of her reply, given so low she wasn't sure she even heard it. She turned back, daring a quick peek at his face. He had begun to smile again. For a man who carried the weight of their team's horrific work on his shoulders and brow, he had the most amazing smile. She tilted her head a little and had to make sure. She knew she was jut drunk enough to conjure this moment out of her deepest fantasies.

"Yes?"

The smile grew wider and those dimples deeper. Hotch knew that bite of her lower lip was her tell. She was nervous. This incredible, beautiful woman was nervous about him. The alpha caveman took over. He pulled her back into his arm for a quick, hard kiss.

"Hell, yes. Go get the taxi. Get a to-go cup of cider too. I will need a moment to, well, to be presentable. Then I will meet you downstairs. Yes?"

She ran her tongue briefly over her lips, tasting him. Smiling she took her fingertip and caressed his still smiling mouth. She had felt his reaction to her and knew what he meant.

"You might want to wipe the lipstick off too. It is a good color on you, though. I will see you downstairs."

Stopping only to pick up her cup, she allowed herself another glance at him. He was wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, but she could see the smile and heat in his eyes.

Hotch stood for a long moment, watching her progress through the crowd. There was a bounce to her step that had been missing before. Emily hugged Garcia and laughed at something Morgan said to her. She was waylaid by Reid and spoke to him for a moment. He must be confused by someone's social interaction. The supervisor in him shuddered, hoping it was not someone on his team. The irony of that pulled him up short. He smiled and took another sip of the cooling cider. Even cooled, the potent combination of spices and rum left a trail of warmth inside. The taste reminded him of Emily. Maybe he should stop. Maybe he should think. A flash of her red sweater moved through the crowd. He watched as she glanced up at his office. Maybe he would blame the cider. She bit her lip again briefly. He took another deep drink, draining the cup. The cider wasn't to blame. Probably he should thank it.

He clicked off his office light, took a deep breath and went to get a to-go cup for himself.

**This will be a one shot. I think our fevered little imaginations will fill in the rest. I know mine will! ;}}**

**A brief explanation about the cider. My husband is a member of a Volunteer Fire department and every year they bring Santa all through the town on a firetruck. Sirens and Christmas music blaring, they hit every street. They stop at my house for brownies and this cider. I only make it that one day a year. If you want the recipe, PM me.**

**Oh, yeah, the story bunnies live on reviews and chocolate!**


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